Blink
by xox Karen xox
Summary: Sherlock is trying his hardest to get over John's sudden leave and is having to deal with loosing his friend. But can this new case, one like no other, free him from this endless boredom? And, change his life? Young Sherlock. Bad summary.
1. Prologue

FanFiction - Sherlock

**Prologue**

Desperately she pulled at her ragged cardigan attempting, in vain, to keep as much of her body heat in as possible. The cool wind was biting at her vulnerable flesh and whipping violently through her untidy hair. Fumbling aimlessly, trying to fight her way towards the clearing, she grabbed onto nearby trees to push her forwards.

Everyday she would have the same job, at the same time, in whatever mother nature decided to through at them. Today there just happened to be the most awful gale the island had ever seen passing by. The sky was a bleak grey, which the sun appeared to be hiding behind, and the bone-chilling winds were so strong that some of the trees looked as through they were struggling against it.

But that didn't mean she got the day off. No. That's not how they ran the place. They ran a hardcore orphanage that seemed to show no mercy. There were no safety or human-right's rules and regulations at that place.

Shaking, she pulled her hands out of the warmth of her cardigan, and held out the tin bucket. It was the heavy grey tin bucket that she had used to do this job all her life, since the age of five, at least. She knelt down on the ground, wincing as the cold mud began to soak her lower legs, and felt with her hands, the bank of the stream. She lowered the bucket into the water and listened to the sound of the fresh running water connect with the metal, cutting the silence with a large 'clang'.

She hauled the heavy bucket back out of the water and carefully placed in on the ground beside her, trying not to spill a single drop. Water was precious on the island. There were only one or two streams. They connected to the river but the river was far away, on the other side of the island and the orphanage had no running water, so the streams were their main source.

Suddenly the ground lurched violently and sent her flying into the stream. A loud sound rang through the forest, birds crying in surprise as they took to the sky. The 'bangs' and 'crashes' of unknown objects fell from above.

She managed to lift her head above the water and pull herself forward in the direction of the bank, before the pain in her head became too much and her stomach felt as though it were being pummeled by a million elephants.

She passed out cold, and hadn't a clue of what had just happened to her, and how her whole life would change. In a blink of an eye.


	2. Chapter 1

FanFiction - Sherlock

**Playing the Game**

I stared relentlessly at the ceiling. The dull white painted ceiling. Paint which was new and slowly drying. I was so bored I'd painted my own bedroom ceiling. I had never felt quite so empty, so alone. I used to have John, we shared a flat for a year in London, before he had to return to Iraq with the army. We kept in touch, though. Sort of. But the e-mails don't really make up for the fact that he's not here.

He was- is my friend. My best one. If you know me, which you probably don't, you would know that I don't have friends, I don't make friends. It just doesn't happen. I've never, in my entire childhood, had a friend. But John, he was different. He didn't see me as the 'weirdo', the 'freak', the 'psychopath'. To him, I was just me. And I hope I still am.

I finished my time at Cambridge University two years ago. I'm nineteen, so that might seem a little odd. I was always ahead with learning, I understood things easily. My brain absorbed information like a sponge. And that was just the way I liked it. I passed every junior school exam with 100% and eventually, they moved me up. Two years.

I'm still living with my parents and unfortunately my unbearably irritating older brother, Mycroft. The house is big enough. I don't see Mycroft much, which is lucky, because both of us in a room isn't exactly... desirable. It's usually best for both ourselves, and anyone around us, for us both to be kept apart for as long as possible.

Normally I'd turn to John, when I'm in need of company. But he's not... exactly available right now. So my skull's filling in. Funny, it used to be the other way round.

This plan worked for the first three months. Now it's getting repetitive. And I hate being repetitive.

Lestrade's still been contacting me about new cases, but every one is just as dull as the one before. And even the ones I do decide to take, they are extremely unexciting and I'm finished with them in a couple of days.

At the moment all I really have to do is watch this paint dry and sieve through my mind palace for memories of John.

The silence in the room was smashed by the ringing sound of J.S. Bach's Toccata in D minor. I sat up, and the bed lurched slightly. I scrunched my eyebrows and turned my head slowly to face my desk. Which, in it's current state, was a complete mess.

I noticed my i-phone peeping out from underneath a copy of one of my old chemistry text books. Chemistry was one of the subjects I studied at Cambridge. I stood up slowly and leapt forwards to grab it. I read the caller ID.

Lestrade.

Damn it. I stared at it for a few seconds, contemplating whether or not I should answer. I pressed decline and threw it onto my bed, watching it bounce against the soft sheets.

Seconds pass before I do anything. i just stand there breathing in deeply. Then I look up at the white ceiling once again, and to my skull on the window sill. Pouncing onto the bed I smoothly swipe the phone into my hand and dial a number I know so well.

07694 899 299 - Lestrade

"Ello?" His gruff voice answered at the other end. "Sherlock, is that you?"

"Yes, why?"

"I just phoned you. You declined." He informed me. I hate it when people tell me things I already know.

I roll my eyes at the clueless inspector. "Yes I know that."

"Then why did you call me back after purposely declining my first call!" He asked, frustratedly. Oh, how little must go on in his funny mind of his.

"I'll take the case." I told him abruptly.

"But you haven't told my why-"

"Explain the case when I get there. Got to go!" I hang up, a smile creeping its way onto my face.

The game was back on.

I run down the stairs, sliding down the occasional banister, picking up my long charcoal coat on the way. I pocket my phone just as I'm passing the sitting room.

"Where do you think you're going in such a rush?"

I stop. Freeze.

"Sherlock?"

I turn round to see my mother walking out of the sitting room to meet me. As usual, she is dressed in an expensive outfit, kashmir cardigan and far too much Channel perfume.

"Please mother. I insist you wear less perfume, you are polluting my air zone." I drawl, itching to get away,

She tilts her head at me and raises an eyebrow. "Where are you going?"

"Scotland Yard." I reply, seeing no reason to lie to her. "I have a case."

"So what's so special about this one, eh? I've haven't seen you this excited in a while. Is it a serial killer again?" She knows me too well.

"No Mother, but I have a feeling this one might last longer than the others. Wish me luck." And with that I turn around and stride towards the large front door at the end of the hallway.

I open the door and am just about to step out when- "Oh and Sherlock!" I hear my mother call. I turn around and glare at her.

"Yes?" I demand impatiently.

"Do behave dear."

"Of course." Giving her a short direct answer, which is all she wanted. And left, without another word.

One second... my neck seems uncharacteristically cold.

I made a mad rush to the front door and rang the bell, tapping my foot against the pavement in frustration. I see my mother making her way towards the door, through the glass. As soon as its open I barge through spying the coat hanger and reach for my navy scarf. Perfect. I tie it round my neck neatly and nod at Mother.

This time, I leave for real.

Scotland Yard was the same old busy place. Constantly buzzing with annoying idiots who have no idea what-so-ever about how to do their job properly. That's why I'm always needed. I spot Lestrade standing outside of the building, with several cars with him and a bunch of officers. I catch Anderson's eye and sneer at him. What an imbecile.

"Sherlock. Finally." Lestrade greeted me, and looked me up and down. "You're thinner."

"Marvelous calculation Lestrade, now can we please get on with it." I begged him, trying hard not to get too irritated by his observations.

He chuckled slightly, cleared his throat and indicated to the police car and the black van, and all the people surrounding it. "We going on a little trip."

We both climbed into the police car, with an unknown officer behind the wheel, and set off after the black van, which was ten or so metres ahead.

"So where exactly are we going?" I asked, slightly intrigued about the whole thing.

"An island."

"Try and be a tad more precise Lestrade, I know it's hard, but do try."

He chuckled, though I can hardly see what was so funny. "We're visiting an island off the east coast, at the mouth of the Thames."

"How is this island relevant to the case?" I inquire, not understanding how the things were related.

"The whole case is based around this island." Lestrade explain. He reached into a file he'd brought with him, and brought out several sheets of paper. Background information, by the looks of it. "The island was only discovered recently, around nine years ago, to be precise." Taking his time to raise an eyebrow. "Since then, the island's been owned by some rich geezer named Brad Shipmann."

I nod, taking in the information quickly and scanning my brain for any known connections with the man. "What's the population? I'm presuming there's at least a small village there, I'm guessing he wanted to make some sort of profit."

"Zero."

I raise an eyebrow. "Zero what?"

"Zero population." He tells me. "Since the island was privately owned, it has no one living there, so therefore, has zero population."

I wave my hand at him. "Yes, yes, I know what zero population means. Where does the owner live?"

"Who, Shipmann? He's got a lovely cosy mansion in the beautiful countryside of Dover. He's not living on the island, which as you can imagine, is quite odd. Why buy an island, if you're not going to live there?"

I hummed in agreement. "It is quite odd. I suspect he's got other uses for it. So what's this case about exactly?"

Lestrade clears his throat once again and hands me one of the sheets from his hands. "Two days ago, as you know, was the first of April."

"Nice of you to tell me Lestrade but I inform you, I was well aware. It being April Fool's Day and all." I told him sarcastically. Mycroft had decided to get his filthy own back on me.

"Well did you know that there had been an nuclear explosion on the island that day? No, didn't think so." He smirked at me.

I read the paper, scanning it for every last detail. "So what, we're investigating a nuclear explosion. Surely this isn't your division?"

"No. It's not the explosion we're here about." Lestrade corrected, he shifted his papers around a bit and then handed me a new one. "Before the explosion, no one knew there was a building on the island. Other than the plant, of course. But apparently Mr. Shipmann had the place build over eight years ago."

I stared at the sheet. A picture of a large brick building was printed on the page. "What was it used for? It's hard to tell from the exterior."

"The place was called "The Hive' and it was an orphanage, for well, orphans."

"Clearly." I mutter, deep in thought.

"Yes, well it was built under the Government's noses and he wouldn't have been allowed to build a place which kept children, so close to a nuclear power plant. Anyway, when the plant exploded, it looks like it took the orphanage down with it, and also a lot of the trees surrounding the area."

"If the orphanage and the plant was blown up, then there's nothing to investigate, I don't see why it was necessary to bring me into this. Surely the police force can handle an explosion for God's sake-" I argued, not seeing the point.

"The children were gone Sherlock."

I stopped, mid-rant. "What do you mean the children were gone?"

"We had a team sent out yesterday to survey the area, they brought us back all the details about the explosion. They told us they found not one of the children's' bodies in the orphanage, only the care-workers, maids and cooks, etcetera."

"You mean to tell me there's been a nuclear explosion and children have disappeared..."

He nods, confirming my answer.

I throw my hands up in the air and place them behind my head. "Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. It must be Christmas! Scrap that. This is so wonderful, it must be at least my birthday."

Lestrade shook his head and attempted to hold back a chuckle as the officer drove them nearer and nearer to the coast.


End file.
